One Hundred
by BunBunBun
Summary: "Not just anyone will do. It has to be someone sexy, challenging and memorable." When Dean wants his hundredth conquest to be a special one, he finds that goal disturbingly difficult to accomplish. After all, you don't get excited that easily after a decade's worth of busty beauties, do you? Thankfully, though, Sam has an idea. Eventual Wincest.
1. 99 and counting

Notes: Firstly, let me apologize to everyone who's been waiting for The Long Way Home to continue - by now, I've rewritten the end two times, but hopefully, I'll decide it's uploadworthy the third time (which is, at least, almost done).

In the meantime, though, I hereby present a plot bunny that's been haunting me for two weeks and is finally ready to be unleashed!

Setting: some time during the early seasons (seriously, when exactly Dean would hit his 100th one night stand is entirely up to your guesses)

Pairing: mentioned Dean/Random girls, eventual Wincest (mainly Top!Sam, Bottom!Dean)

Warnings: This gets dirty. Not as dirty and explicit as it could be, but still worse than most stuff I've written so far.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or anything related, I simply enjoy its awesomeness and great fandom :D

So, with everythign said and done, here we go...

* * *

**One Hundred**

**99 and counting**

Double D.

Glancing after their waitress, Dean silently nodded to himself.

Definitely a double D.

With long blonde hair and a curvy body, she looked pretty tasty. Considering she was a waitress and, as such, in pretty decent shape, she might actually turn out lots of fun.

But...after pondering for a moment, he came to the conclusion that she would not be_ enough_ fun. Enough fun for any other night, surely, but not for this occasion.

Heaving a sigh, he returned his attention to his brother, who, as it turned out, had been watching him over the breakfast table all the while.

So Dean had been intending to start the day with a nice review of their respective progress on the case, but the bitchface greeting him rendered that particular plan all but impossible from the very beginning.

"Dean, what the hell is wrong with you?" Sam accused in barely concealed annoyance.

Furrowing his brows, Dean blinked back. _What?_ He did not even get to come up with any thesis on what the hell he had done wrong this time – they were simply eating in quiet, for crying out loud! - when Sam finally bothered elaborating. "Our waitress isn't just your type," he pointed out with a confusingly impatient nod towards the blonde in question, "she's hotter than basically any chick you picked up the last times you were this desperate."

Dean's jaw dropped. "_This desperate?_" he repeated incredulously, "I'm not – "

Sam rolled his eyes and released an even more infuriating sigh. "Our last three motel rooms were reeking of your sexual frustration, man," he pointed out and ran a hand through his hair as he leant back in the chair, "Seriously, this is none of my business, just..." He released another sigh. "Get this taken care of, man."

Inhaling deeply, Dean took a few moments to gather his composure. He hadn't even intended for Sam to notice, at least not yet, and not like this. Then again, though, he hadn't exactly expected this to become quite as difficult, either.

"Please don't tell me you need me to get her phone number for you," Sam pressed on when Dean was still failing to reply a minute later, and it finally shook the older brother out of his reverie.

"Nah, I'm fine," he stated simply and reached for his cup of coffee.

But Sam's stare kept drilling holes into his skin. "No, you're not," he countered with a frown, "I thought we'd established that."

"We also established that this is none of your busniess," Dean pointed out gruffly, but his brother would have none of it.

"Look, I wouldn't put it past the Trickster to orchestrate something exactly like this just to drive the two of us insane," Sam argued in exasperation, "So if you not being yourself is indeed a case, then it _is_ my business."

Sighing, Dean took a sip of his coffee. "It's not a case," he assured his brother.

At first, Sam had looked ready to let the matter rest. When Dean added, "It's a _mission_," with a meaningful look, though, the younger brother slumped his shoulders with an expression that said, _I should have known_. "So basically, you're setting up some kind of sick, personal sex record," he summarized with what felt like the hundredth sigh that morning.

Apropos one hundred...

"It's not just some record, Sammy," Dean explained and leant forward meaningfully, "We're talking about the big one hundred."

As expected, his brother reacted with an exasperated sigh. His bitchface yet had to reappear, though. "Please spare me the details," he commented and finally resumed eating his rather unappetizing meal.

Now that they had already gotten to the topic, though, withholding the crucial part was the last thing on Dean's mind. "99 girls, Sammy," he elaborated with a grand gesture, "Some hot, some not, but all of them were great in their own way, which in turn means..." He lifted his finger for stress. "That Miss No. 100 has to be _amazing_."

As intended, Sam was beginning to look uncomfortable. "Too much information, Dean," he pointed out, but still seemed to consider the news in regards of their earlier problem – his brother's suddenly high standards in women and his subsequent unnerving behaviour.

"Our waitress is cute and all," Dean explained and tilted his head, "but not _Miss 100 cute_."

Sam heaved another sigh. "That's stupid and you know it. Considering you barely even remember the girls you make out with the morning after, I doubt that number is particularly reliable anyway," he stated and massaged his temple, "Most likely, Miss 100 was that freckled hooker back in Detroit and you're way past 110 already."

Frowning deeply, Dean was slightly disturbed Sam seemed just a bit too informed on his love affairs. More importantly, though, he refused to acknowledge his brother's argumentation. "Detroit, yeah, I got to give her that much, she certainly was flexible," he summarized a hazy memory from months ago, "but not – "

"Not _Miss 100 flexible_," Sam finished the sentence in his stead and sighed, "I got that."

"A man's got to have his personal highlights every once in a while," Dean defended himself. Especially with their lifestyle the way it was, he had all the reason to enjoy those little pleasantries all the more.

"Just...whatever," Sam humoured his brother at last, "Seriously, your little kinks are none of my business, just..." He grimaced, reconsidering his wording, "Make sure your self-induced sex deprivation doesn't get us killed."

Again, it was Dean's turn to frown. In all honesty, he had told Sam because the bugger wouldn't shut up, and then because he simply wanted to tease him. Now that the bombshell had been dropped, though, they might as well make the best of it. "You could help me looking, you know," Dean suggested with a casual shrug and flung a spare rib into his mouth, "You don't happen to know some gal that's just...you know, _wow_?"

Sam rolled his eyes, which landed on the blonde serving the guests two tables over. "If this waitress doesn't meet your definition of _wow_, there's something seriously wrong with you, man."

Joining his brother in oogling the poor girl, Dean had to rephrase his thoughts. "Of course she is, I mean, yeah," he agreed slowly and tilted his head, "but she's just too much like others I've already had. I need something different, something new – someone sexy, challenging and – " He subconsciously licked his lips. " – memorable."

Again, Sam sent him that exasperated glance. "If it's taken you three towns and you still haven't found anyone in spite of this – " He nodded once again towards the waitress, whose short skirt left very little to the imagination " – it's probably hopeless anyway."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but just in that moment, his brother's phone rang. It was kind of fascinating to watch him switching into business mode within half a second, really, but the call only lasted half a minute anyway. "We got a new lead," Sam summarized as he chewed down the sad remains of his sad vegetarian meal, "We should get going." With that, he got up and handed the waitress a couple of bills before striding towards the exit.

Striding after his brother, Dean met him at the Impala. He had half-hoped the conversation to be over, now that they had to get back to work – but once again, Sam's bitchface told him otherwise.

"Seriously, Dean," the younger brother chided as they were standing next to the car, "we've got cases to solve and demons to hunt. Don't make this even more difficult." With that, he produced something small and white from his pocket and handed it to his brother.

Frowning, Dean found himself looking at a paper napkin with a phone number and a red lipstick mark on it. So Sam had gotten her number after all? Maybe on other days, Dean would have felt endeared by his brother's care – now, though, it was finally him who was getting exasperated. "Sam, this is my choice," he pointed out crossly, "She's cute, but not Miss 100 cute."

Rolling his eyes, Sam yanked the car door open. "Alright," he pouted, "If you really need something new, challenging and memorable..." He met Dean's look in a half-glare, "why don't you look for Mister 100 instead?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Dude!" he protested weakly, trying hard to force that particular nation out of his mind for all eternity.

But Sam, the bastard, only chuckled and looked as if he was actually giving that idea another thought. _Of course_ he would take any chance to get back at Dean for all the awkwardness the mere conversation had put him in.

"Seriously, though," Sam pondered, "It might even work." A scheming grin formed on his features. "You're good-looking enough to turn even straight men gay," he explained and arched an eyebrow in challenge, "and I'm pretty sure Chuck the lumberjack _will_ leave a lasting impression on you." With another light chuckle, he entered the car at last, leaving a flabberghasted Dean standing in the cold morning air.

It took about a minute for the older brother's brain to unfreeze from the mental images he certainly hadn't asked for.

"The fuck, man," he complained as he sat down in the driver's seat and _accidentally_ picked the music cassette he knew Sam hated the most, "You sure know how to spoil a man's dream." With that, he turned the music on extra loudly.

He didn't hear it, but he could still see Sam sighing. "Just call the waitress," Sam all but pleaded once again.

Too bad Dean couldn't hear him over the stereo. Sam had just lost his license as anyone's dating advisor anyway.

- TBC -


	2. 99 and wondering

_A couple of days later..._

**99 and wondering**

Roughly six feet.

Glancing after the cashier, Dean furrowed his brows further.

A bit taller than him, but definitely smaller than Sam, the man was definitely six feet tall - and even in spite of his size, he looked so fragile a mere, good-natured arm wrestling match might actually break his bones.

That screaming contradiction between height and strength was a bit unnerving, admittedly, but it wasn't what really caused Dean's confusion. Rather, what irked him was... that he didn't even know what to look for. With women, it was obvious – bust, shape, smile, general attractiveness.

With men, though, well – he could estimate pretty well how long they would last in a bar fight. Also, hunting had taught him to read people in general quite decently, so twisting them around his finger should work roughly the same as with women...right?

Well, maybe.

The cashier returned his change along with a wink, and Dean was too weirded out to realize that this was why he had checked the man out in the first place. Sighing in frustration, he took the groceries and returned to the car. He only then noticed he had forgotten to get the milk and cornflakes Sam had asked for.

Huffing in defiance, Dean turned on the engine.

His brother would throw a bitch fit once they met up back at the motel, but then again, he was the one who had started this entire mess in the first place.

In suggesting Dean to hook up with another man.

It had been a tease, and neither brother had taken that idea as anything else.

But during the following night, Dean's subconsciousness had processed that particular conversation by showing him just what two men could do in bed that would never quite work in a heterosexual context.

And.

_Damn._

It had gotten him intrigued.

Both intrigued and sexually confused, mind you.

But the exception proved the rule, right?

So maybe celebrating the great 100th sexual partner was exactly the right occasion for him to start experimenting a bit.

Or, well, a bit more than usual.

...right?

Biting his lip, Dean glared at the traffic light that had been red for a full minute already when a brunet saleman crossed the street right in front of him.

Roughly five feet and five inches.

He frowned at the man.

That guy would probably faint right away from a right hook, and even if his face was a bit easier to look at, he would probably faint way before Dean got his 100, anyway.

The traffic light turned green and Dean shook the mental images out of his head rather forcefully.

So maybe he was intrigued about the whole man-on-man workings, but he still found it hard to find himself attracted to any of the guys he had seen during the last couple of days, even the objectively prettier ones.

Altogether, if he had been desperate before, he was certainly hopeless now.

Grumbling to himself, he parked the car in front of their motel room and grabbed the grocery bag, but not without accidentally leaving another one of Sam's orders behind. Who the fuck eats zucchini anyway?

Selfish, sadistic bastards, that's what.

After all, Sam was the one who had turned this entire situation hopeless.

Widening the scope by half the earth's frigging population hadn't done Dean's search for the grand lover number 100 any good. On the contrary, he might not have been frustrated then – both sexually and emotionally – but he certainly was now.

And then he walked into the motel room to find his brother just coming out of the shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Sam didn't even seem to mind he had grabbed a hilariously small towel that looked even tinier in comparison to his tall body, but Dean certainly did – and, worse yet, he did not get any chance to actually phrase an objection with the huge lump that was forming in his throat.

"Dean, took you long enough," Sam greeted him as he began gathering his clothes from the bed, "The diner was already closed, so I guess we'll have to have breakfast for supper. Did you bring the milk?"

Dean's already gloomy expression darkened with every passing second. "Damn it, Sam," he growled, slammed the bag on the kitchen counter and made a U turn for the exit.

He hadn't even heard a word his brother had said, because every fiber of his body had been screaming at him to get the fuck out of there.

Before he knew it, he was sitting in the Impala again and slammed his forehead against the steering wheel.

Of course he hadn't found any remotely attractive males over the course of several days. Consciously or not, he had always had Sam to measure them up against, and as he had just been helpfully reminded, the guy was a frigging Adonis.

A frigging Adonis that got him hot in all the wrong places.

Releasing a colourful curse, Dean drove towards a nearby nightshop and made a mental note to get an old bottle of milk that would be just as sour as his mood once it reached the motel.

But his misery kept him so occupied he did not even bother getting out of the car.

As if his fruitless search hadn't already been frustrating enough, now – this?

Of all the people on earth – _Sam_?

Somehow, he had ended up at the receiving end of a prank gone either awfully wrong or awfully right.

On the pro side, he had after _months_ of searching finally found a person worthy of becoming his 100th lover.

On the con side, the fact that it was his own frigging brother disqualified him just as quickly.

Dean had parked the car outside the nightshop quite a while ago, but it would still take him some time to calm down his nerves...and his arousal, on that note.

So maybe he should not have barged into their room unannounced.

Maybe he should not have spent any further thoughts on Sam's stupid suggestion of fishing in another pond for once.

Probably, he should just have kept quiet without ever telling his brother about his own personal anniversary.

Maybe he should have simply dismissed his impossible goal, booty-called that waitress and resumed the life of a lady killer.

But as it was...

He had dared venturing on uncharted territory, and he had no idea how to tame the beast he had encountered there. After all, he couldn't just ignore it...could he?

- TBC -


	3. 100 and counting

_Edit (14/08/23): Corrrected some minor errors and censored the explicit bits so it would be an easier read at that point. No big changes, though._

_Note: There we go, reaching the big 100 at last, and it is getting pretty naughty (let me know whether I shouldn't just...censor it a bit, will you?). _

_To prevent any confusion, mind that the italics at the beginning of the chapter do, in fact, mark a dream._

* * *

_Another couple of days later..._

**100 and counting**

_Dean's head hit the window crank rather forcefully and he couldn't get himself to be bothered about it. But he seemed to have flinched nonetheless, because only a moment later, a large hand was holding the back of his head, effectively shielding him from the offending object._

_"I told you the hood would have worked better," Sam murmured into the crane of his neck and began sucking at his skin._

_Far too distracted by the closeness, the heavy weight on top of him and basically every single one of his brother's actions, Dean only managed a weak reply, "There's people outside."_

_He could feel Sam's lips twisting into a smirk against his skin. "They can see the car rocking anyway," he countered and pushed his own weight further against his brother's for stress._

_Sure enough, the motion sent the Impala bumping happily along, but Dean barely even noticed that much. While both men were still fully clothed, they were now sprawled across each other in such a way Sam's thigh was rubbing against Dean's erection through the denim, and he could no longer keep himself from moaning._

_Placing another kiss on Dean's neck, Sam shifted again._

_As if the former contact had not been enough of a tease, the sudden deprivation of it almost got Dean to complain._

_Almost._

_Thankfully, Sam knew better than to wait too long – or rather, he was just as impatient as his older brother. Almost simultaneously, both of them freed a hand from the entangled mess they were. Yet while Dean busied himself getting rid of his brother's shirt in quite a hurried fashion, Sam went for the button his brother's denim right away._

_"Sammy, you're..." Dean croaked, but trailed off when an apt hand freed its target in record time._

_"Dean..." Breathing hotly against his neck, Sam started working his magic._

_"Sammy." Relaxing under his brother's ministration, Dean was solely focused on the steady strokes and the needy kisses, and before he knew it, he was already getting dizzy from the amazement Sam's sheer skill forced upon him, and he found himself hazily staring up at the Impala's roof that suddenly seemed much further away._

"Dean..." Sammy kept murmuring into his ear.

But it wasn't a murmur, and Sam was nowhere near.

Breathing heavily, Dean missed the close contact before he even noticed he was indeed staring up at the ceiling of a motel room.

He inhaled deeply. A dream?

A wave of disappointment washed over him, but, well, it had been too good to be true.

At long last, his breathing was returning to normal, but the sweat still kept running down his forehead.

And he was still holding his very erect member in his hand. Fondling himself in his sleep was nothing new to him, but he hadn't dreamt quite as vividly as that in a long time.

Sighing, he let go at last. Seriously, in spite of just how wrong it was to even think about it, Dean wouldn't have minded to find out just how the dream would have continued.

Instead, he kept lying in his bed, covered in his own sweat, staring at the ceiling of the motel room.

Suddenly, though, his mental rambling was interrupted by the sound of bare footfalls.

Dean's eyes widened.

_Shit._

It was, after all, a motel room _he shared with the same brother he had just been dreaming about_.

_Shit._

Finally daring to avert his gaze from the dark ceiling, Dean sat up to find Sam's shirtless silhouette opening the window with a sigh.

"Your wet dream's used up all the oxygen in the room," the younger hunter supplied tiredly before returning to sit on the edge of his bed, "Seriously, man, get this sorted out already."

"I would," Dean retorted at once, glaring at Sam because, frankly, he was the reason for anything wrong in that moment. But, if anything, staring at Sam only served to remind him of some more juicy details of his dream, and he instantly forgot whatever thought he had been intending to phrase.

"Then do," Sam demanded with an indignant glance at his brother.

Huffing, Dean shrugged dispassionately, "I can't."

"But you would," Sam repeated with a frown, causing his brother to sigh in exasperation. Worse yet, in spite of the sheer awkwardness and his knowledge of just what his brother had been doing in his sleep, he was still shamelessly staring right back at Dean. If anything, though, the stupid discussion at least served to pump the blood back into the older brother's brain...for the moment.

"Will you shut it already?" Dean retorted and flung himself back into the annoyingly humid sheets, "I would if I could."

He was glaring at the ceiling again, hoping to get some sleep and no further nagging, when he heard a sigh that just had to be accompanied by a bitchface.

But he was in no way prepared for what Sam said next.

"You _can_, you know."

Snorting softly, Dean highly doubted that his brother even knew what he was talking about. It was hilarious to even think about it – about his brother considering, let alone agreeing to anything even close to what he _wanted_ him to do. But the notion alone sufficed to renew his arousal, and it didn't help in the slightest that just in that moment, Sam walked over to tower at his brother's bedside.

"Three times, Dean," Sam stated in a forcefully nonchalant manner, "This night alone, you've woken me up three freaking times _by moaning my name_." He inhaled shakily in what could be confused as either fury or...anticipation?

Dean, on the other hand, stared back like a deer caught in headlights.

_Shit._

As if it wasn't already bad enough he'd been caught enjoying his own dreamscape a bit too much - Sam knew who he had been dreaming about.

If he had ever planned for anything not to happen, it was this.

_But Sam fucking knew._

And Dean had no idea how to justify his own lust for his brother – if there was any way to justify it at all.

To make matters even worse, Sam chose that moment to lean over, propping himself up by placing his hands on either side of his brother's head while staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

Needless to say, Dean's mind drew a blank at the sheer surrealism of the situation. There was no way Sam did not know just what he was doing to his brother with his proximity alone. Was he teasing him on purpose? Was this, all of this, some kind of well-planned revenge for all the times Dean had cracked jokes about his brother's questionable sexuality?

As good a comeback as it may be, Dean didn't have it in him to smack Sam away the way he deserved it, not with the damn giant hovering above him, inching closer with every damn hot breath he took, staring down at him intently.

Trapped underneath, Dean fought the temptation hopelessly, but certain parts of his body had already chosen to notice Sam's presence in an unmistakable way.

As if the torture hadn't already become unbearable enough, Sam leant even closer. Their eyes locked and, just as Dean's heart started hammering in his chest, Sam's lips parted ever so slightly. "You've got three seconds to stop what's coming for you, Dean," he whispered hoarsely.

And Dean still had no idea just what the hell was happening. But he knew for certain that he couldn't wait for another three seconds.

Reaching up, he pulled his brother's head down, meeting him halfway to crush their lips together.

Sam released a small sound of surprise, but – there were lips and tongues and limbs and moans – and Dean would never even have considered it possible, but –

Lowering himself onto his elbows, climbing on top of Dean and pressing him into the mattress with his weight alone, Sam was returning the kiss just as eagerly.

It lasted forever and had them both panting heavily. Much too soon, their lungs' capacities forced them apart, yet the kisses didn't stop. Slowly but surely, and so damn needily, Sam worked his way across his brother's cheek towards his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

Dean gasped in surprise and tightened his grip on his brother's head and back. That, in turn, got Sam to shift his position slightly – rather than straddling him, he now forced himself between his brother's legs. Suddenly, Dean noticed his brother's compelling presence in a new way altogether, and he no longer gave a crap whether any of this had ever been real to begin with.

"Get your fucking clothes off, Sam," he rasped through gritted teeth and mentally cursed the sheets still separating him from his brother's already bare torso.

Yanking at it and tossing it to the floor with a grunt, Sam seemed to have the same idea. But he did not bother undressing just yet. Instead of freeing them of either his own sleeping trousers or the sad remains of Dean's clothing, which was really just pair of half-dismissed boxers and a single sock anyway, Sam crushed his body against his brother once more.

Just as his lips were claimed anew, he felt his brother's hands moving downwards. Wandering across Dean's back and coming to a halt on his behind, they squeezed him tightly and lifted him up just so Sam could –

Dean's eyes widened and a gasp escaped his throat, when, at long last, he realized that he was being dominated on this one.

And the mere prospect was fucking amazing.

But Sam had noticed his brother's hesitation and halted in an instant.

"We should stop this while we still can," he whispered in Dean's ear, voice shaky and head lowered, trembling with anticipation as they were still entangled much too closely not to notice each other's excitement.

Breathing heavily, Dean did not trust his voice to phrase anything in that moment. But Sam had a point. They were brothers, and this was wrong in any way imaginable. "We should," Dean agreed throatily, but he couldn't get himself to care. Sam was there and close and hard and so fucking delectable, so instead of whatever he should do, he chose what he wanted to do.

And that just so happened to be yanking Sam's head down again, sucking all the air out of his lungs and _finally getting rid of those damn clothes_.

* * *

Breathing heavily, covered in sweat and shaking from the sheer intensity of their encounter, they were a mess.

But they didn't have it in them to disentangle themselves just yet.

Instead, Dean kept running his fingers through his brother's hair while staring dazedly at the ceiling that suddenly looked much prettier.

There were no words to describe just what had just happened.

He had not even realized he had been wanting exactly this for who knows how long. But Sam, his Sammy, oh god, he'd …

He'd shown him exactly what he needed.

Something new, something challenging, something memorable.

Dean had had the occasional dominant one night stand before, but even in a homosexual context, he hadn't seen it coming he might be the one to submit himself. After all, he was a leader. He gave the orders, he took control. Even if the hunting ways hadn't taught him not to ever let go of that control, he wouldn't have dreamt to forfeit it quite as easily.

But with nothing but a few gentle yet firm gestures, Sam coaxed him into letting go, and Dean couldn't even to begin to describe just how good it felt not to be in charge for once.

In a world of horrendous dangers and unbearable responsibilities, Dean had managed to relax for once. He had allowed himself to be taken care of, protected and loved.

And it had been amazing, too.

"You'd think it would feel wrong, with us being brothers and all," he mused quietly, still staring at the ceiling.

He felt Sam shifting on top of him. "It would feel wrong with any other man, Dean," he commented as their eyes locked at last.

Staring back to find a kind of care reflected at him he himself only felt towards his brother, Dean realized Sam might not even be that off with that statement. Even if he had found someone else to meet his expectations for the great 100, he highly doubted he would have let anyone take the upper hand like this. You had to trust a person to lower your guard that far, so altogether Sam really was his only option for this kind of adventure, right? And given the countless dreams that had haunted him ever since he had even started considering men as a dating option, Dean certainly wouldn't mind going on such adventures more often.

Thus, he sent Sam a sheepish smile. "Brothers with benefits?" he suggested playfully.

Sam arched an eyebrow, but he shook his head with a huff. "I'm pretty sure you'll find other playmates now that your epic quest is finally over," he commented matter-of-factly and shifted to get up at last.

But Dean held him back. "Who says it's over?" he countered and tilted his head, "There's still so much to try out, and, seriously, you can't tell me you're _not_ intrigued."

A moment of silence passed with Sam contemplating. Dean did not know just what was going through his brother's head in that moment, or why the hell he would even refuse to turn this into a more frequent activity in the first place. After all, a good part, if not all, of Sam's recent actions had been undertaken fully conscious of the fact it would eventually lead them here, hadn't they?

But for the moment, Dean did not need any agreements for the months to come. He only needed for the amazement, for _this_, to go on just a little longer.

So he really did not need to know just what Sam was thinking as he looked down and surrendered with a soft sigh at last. Lifting himself up just so they would both be grossly aware of the sticky fluids between them, Sam tilted his head. "Well, we both need a shower right now anyway," he admitted at last.

And it became the hottest shower either of them had ever taken.

* * *

Dean watched his brother over the breakfast table. To anyone else, it would look as if nothing had changed, and, frankly, he was rather impressed just how the two of them could keep their faces straight after a night as intense as that.

...or how they could even sit straight, for that matter.

"You sure you don't want to, you know, keep this going?" he asked as casually as he could. But both knew he wasn't nonchalant about it at all. After tasting an exotic fruit for the first time, you didn't just not develop a healthy appetite for it.

But even though he had not bothered hiding his own desire for his brother mere hours ago, Sam didn't seem to agree with his opinion. "You got your 100 and that is that," he stated icily and resumed munching on whatever weird leaves he had ordered this time.

Sighing heavily, Dean acknowledged the finality of that statement. Of course, the two of them together was still just as absurd a concept as it had been the first time it had crossed his mind.

But it was amazing in its own right, and Dean couldn't help wondering whether they couldn't find some sort of compromise, even though Sam's mind was dead set on not daring anything as stupid as dating his own brother.

But it didn't have to be permanent anyway, did it? After all, it had been their respective love of adventure that had drawn them together like this in the first place, right? So maybe all he needed was the right bait.

Thus, Dean fixed his brother in a challenging look and leant forward slightly. "I get what you're saying," he spoke just loudly enough for nobody else to hear them, "But did you know the Impala's backseat is actually spacious enough for both of us to get comfortable?" Just to stress his point, he added a sly grin to his statement.

But Sam had already frozen anyway, and Dean knew he had won this one long before an actual answer came. "I guess we'll have to try that out," the younger hunter finally agreed with a slow nod and arched an eyebrow, "If your back is really up to it, old man."

"I'm pretty sure I'm more flexible than you are, kiddo," Dean countered light-heartedly and was pleased to receive the desired answer in an instant.

"I'll take you up on that," Sam assured him with a dark glint in his eyes, and Dean couldn't help gulping in anticipation.

There, he'd done it again.

Even though Sam had announced for this to be a one-time experience only, he was already extending his service for the second time. And considering just what kind of look he was receiving in that moment, Dean realized that, given the right incentive, convincing his brother would be just as easy the next few times.

All he had to do was to keep him intrigued - and Dean just so happened to have a long to-do list in store for them.

- T B C -

* * *

Notes: Alright, so regretfully, it's gotten so late I doubt I'll get to upload the rest today. I'll do that asap - in the meantime, though, let me know what you think?

Also, even though that last sentence is a bit of a cliffhanger for pron, I won't elaborate on Dean's elusive list all that much. Rather, what's left is finding out just why they don't get together properly in the first place, so stay tuned!


	4. 104 and stopping

_Notes_: Much love to mb64 and ctskctsk for the lovely reviews! They really made my day :)  
(On the details of Dean's to do list: Let's just put that list on a level with the Wincest section of an SPN kink meme of your choice ;D)

* * *

**104 and stopping**

A C cup.

Tilting his head to get a better look, Dean furrowed his brows.

Or maybe B, he wasn't so sure nowadays.

In any case, that brunette chick sitting at a table nearby all by herself seemed lonely enough to deserve some entertaining company – and she definitely looked cute enough to rouse Dean's interest...and other things.

But not just yet.

As he leant back against the counter, Dean's attention returned to his random drinking buddy of the night – and a conversation he had been working towards for years. He hadn't gotten around to doing this since he had become eligible to, but now, with an ear willing to listen and a pal ready to get impressed, it was definitely time to boast.

"So maybe she was a bit flat-chested," he announced with a satisfied grin, "but her legs were endless, and, damn, you wouldn't believe the things she could do with her tongue." His mind flashed to one particular memory - an adventure on the Impala's front seats that might have gotten pretty dangerous if he had indeed been driving all the while - and he couldn't keep his grin from widening.

Listening attentively, his drinking buddy – his name was Steve or something – nodded in appreciation. "Blonde or brunette?" he asked good-naturedly.

"Brunette and gorgeous," Dean replied at once and inhaled softly, as if he expected to smell that familiar shampoo in doing so.

Chuckling, Steve took a sip of his drink, "Those are the naughtiest."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Definitely," he stated and took a large gulp of his own beer, "You had to make it past her bitchface, but once she got going – damn." He shook his head at yet another mental image of those endless legs - and of the one simple, playful sentence that had accompanied that particular view, _'Looks like I'll have to pick up the soap this time, huh?'_. His breath hitched slightly at the memory, but if anything, it served to stress his point, "She was so fucking _hot_."

"Sounds like quite the trophy for the big one hundred," Steve summarized and arched an eyebrow, "So what happened?"

Dean frowned. "What do you mean, what happened?"

"Didn't you say you're at, what, 104 now?" Steve replied with a shrug, "and yet you can't get over her."

Dean furrowed his brows. The guy had a valid point – then again, _getting over her_ was rendered all but impossible by the fact that his trophy lover just so happened to be the brother he spent almost every waking hour with.

But it didn't matter, because that entire reasoning would require Dean to_ want_ to get over him - which was not his intention in the first place.

After all, he had chosen the perfect 100 so carefully because he _wanted_ it to be memorable – and every single one of their get-togethers had been that – and more.

"Well, she was amazing," Dean explained slowly and looked at the ceiling with a forlorn expression, "Of course it took a bit coaxing, but she _was_ always in the mood, and for weeks, we tried out _everything_ we could come up with."

And that wasn't even an overstatement. On one fine evening, Dean had gotten back to find his brother browsing a site even he felt ashamed to glimpse at. But Sam had only looked up at him with an arched eyebrow and a nod towards the screen. "Is it even physically possible to bend like that?" he had asked, and his brother's response was an automated one, "I take that as a challenge."

Naturally, Dean would never say so out loud – but while Sam had initially lacked his brother's general lewdness, it had been the opposite in regards of bedroom stamina. But only after a couple of days, they had found a great rhythm together. While Dean had quickly remembered to savour their every encounter, Sam had finally developed a healthy appetite of his own.

And it had been fucking perfect like that.

"So?" Steve asked again, still nipping at his drink, "Which one of you chickened out of the idea of long-term commitment?"

Dean actually had to blink at that. Commitment? They were brothers, for crying out loud – they were committed to each other in any sense but this one. Or, well, at least according to Sam, because he was the one who had bitched his way out of recurring fun in the bedroom, really.

Grimacing to himself, Dean really wished his brother hadn't.

"Now that you mention it, it was a bit of work to keep her interested as long as that, anyway," he mused with a heartfelt sigh, "You can only keep up the initial excitement that long – but as soon as we got into a healthy routine, she just looked at me and said, 'I know you want to motorboat that waitress, so just do'." Lowering his head with yet another sigh, he remembered that particular conversation as if it had happened yesterday. Granted, it had only been some weeks ago, but the finality of his brother's words still loomed over Dean like a bad memory.

Sam had made it clear from the very beginning that he wouldn't put up with his brother's erotic adventures any longer than necessary, and certainly not for an indefinite amount of time. Telling him to resume his prior skirt-chasing ways was his way of ending their regrettably short-lived relationship – if you could even call it that.

At the very least, this way that amazing experience didn't even get a chance to turn sour the way long-term relationships usually do.

But that didn't mean Dean had _wanted_ to get dumped. Sighing deeply, he took another sip of beer and begrudgingly realized he might need something stronger after all. He'd picked up four girls since Sam, and, stealing another glance across the pub, he decided the pretty brunette a few tables over was going to be the fifth one.

Yet no matter how busty and pretty and gorgeous they all were – they weren't Sam, and Dean found it very hard to stomach just how easily his own brother had spoilt him in regards of his love life. It would take a while and another couple of girls to get back to his old standards, but his current target looked like as good a place to start as any.

"Well, if that's how you oogled that waitress with your girlfriend right in front of you, I don't see how she _wouldn't_ have ditched you."

Blinking, Dean looked back to find Steve watching him in a mixture of pity and disbelief. "My wife left me for less, you know," the man spoke wistfully, "She got jealous really easily, and that always irked me, but I only realized after the divorce that all she wanted was more attention."

Dean couldn't stop blinking. For some reason, it was hilarious to have his experimental weeks with his brother likened to an actual marriage. But even though factors like fidelity and commitment had never been part of their curious relationship, the comparison held at least in one aspect.

Sam was a master at bitching.

"If you've really had as many women as you say, you should already know that they never mean what they say," Steve mused on forlornly and stared at the bottom of his glass, "I, at least, learned a lesson. I should never have taken her for granted." He gulped, growing more miserable with every word he spoke, "I should have worshipped the damn ground she walked on, but what did I do?" He grimaced and forced his eyes shut. "I stared at the boobs of every chick that crossed my way, and look where that got me." For stress, he leant over the counter and ordered another whiskey, downing it in one go as soon as it arrived.

Dean, meanwhile, was speechless. So maybe their respective love lives had never been the other's business prior to their first intimate meeting – but, as a matter of fact, and even though neither had made any indication, Dean couldn't know whether Sam's opinion on that matter hadn't changed during those weeks after all.

He only knew that Sam could harbour a grudge better than most other men he had ever met, and, in consideration of the story he had just been told, he wouldn't put it past his brother to say the opposite of what he was thinking, too.

"Take my advice, boy," Steve went on and glared brokenly at the empty glass in front of him, "If you have any chance to make it up to her, call your girl. Make her feel pretty. Make her feel loved. And, damn it, get her back at any cost."

Dean was staring at his drinking buddy, a man slightly older than him who had been fun to talk to earlier – and who had been reduced to a miserable drunkard by the mere notion of his life's worst misgiving.

Now, he should probably find some way to cheer the man up. After all, Steve had only been trying to help him – or maybe he had intended to drown that deep-seated misery in alcohol from the beginning. Either way, Dean couldn't get himself to care all that much, for he suddenly found himself confronted with a much bigger issue.

What if Sam _did_ want to continue what they had shared?

Dean found his breath quickening at the prospect.

What if the stupid Sasquatch had simply jumped to conclusions by assuming that it couldn't work on the long run?

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out.

What if the solution to his most recent heartache was as simple as a phone call?

"Good timing," Sam's deep, slightly tired voice greeted him as soon as he got himself to dial, "I just found something you'll want to see. We might even crack the case tonight. You got the Impala, you mind picking me up?"

Blinking, Dean vaguely noted that they were in fact still on a case - but it didn't matter, for he replied with the first sentence that came to mind anyway.

"Nothing that I'd rather do."

* * *

Frankly, it was once again a miracle to Dean just how the hell Sam had found the intel that had led them to the culprit. Instead of some recently deceased community member, it turned out to be the ghost of a juvenile drug dealer, who had died in the area a hundred years ago, that had suddenly decided to haunt the locals.

But once his identity had been uncovered, it became a simple salt and burn.

Naturally, the ghost wasn't particularly happy about their choice of actions, so even though they got it taken care of pretty fast, it did leave a nasty cut on Sam's cheek.

Needless to say, Dean would put a painful end to anyone who dared harming his brother. But as Sam seemed fine enough otherwise, they only got around to inspect the wound when they were seated safely back at the motel room. Up close, and with a swelling that was slowly starting, it looked much worse than from a distance. Dean wondered whether they'd have to stitch it after all, but quickly decided against it. After all, it had almost completely stopped bleeding in the meantime, so once they got it disinfected, it would probably be fine.

Sighing, Dean wiped the half-dried blood off with a wet cloth, which caused his brother to flinch slightly. "Don't be a wuss," he commented and reached for the whiskey, "this wasn't even the good part." Sam sent him a glare, and, just because he could, Dean poured unnecessarily much alcohol over the cut.

Even though he released a brief, pained hiss, Sam didn't bitch verbally for once. Acknowledging that fact with a nod, Dean quickly wiped his brother's cheek and lip dry with a tissue. Frankly, he would have preferred to take his sweet time with that task, because it was a highly fascinating one. For practical reasons, though, he applied some basic bandaging so they could start cooling the swelling right away.

"As good as new," he finished as he, albeit reluctantly, leant back to leave his brother some space, "Once you put some ice on it, that is."

Meeting Dean's eyes briefly, Sam got up from the bed. "Thanks," he stated simply and walked towards the fridge, but halted when he caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror. He frowned in dismay.

Frankly, Dean couldn't help agreeing. If the cut, along with the swelling surrounding it, hadn't disfigured Sam enough, the band-aid now certainly did. "Looks like you won't be able to participate in any beauty pageants for a while," he commented dryly.

Sighing, Sam averted his gaze from the mirror and continued towards the refrigerator. "I'm sure you'll make a worthy substitute," he countered half-heartedly as he pulled something out of the freezing compartment that certainly wasn't ice but...a bag of peas?

Getting up as well, Dean briefly wondered whether to drop yet another comment of rabbit food, but Sam's reply offered an even better opening. "Nah, you know how self-conscious I get without someone to cheer me on," he replied playfully and sent his brother a meaningful look, "unless you volunteer for that? I'll even get you the right attire." He couldn't help underlining his offer with a wink, and the mental image of his brother in some skimpy highschool girl outfit triggered a funny feeling in his stomach.

More importantly though, it reminded him why they were currently back at the motel anyway - and why he wasn't still drinking in that pub with Steven...or was it Sean? After all, he'd been sent out with a _mission_. In hurrying all the way back to his brother, he had been dead set on reclaiming him. But imagining Sam's smile and being confronted with his bitchface instead had sent Dean reeling off his track before he had even mustered the courage to confront his brother.

By then, they had even finished the case that had brought them to town, but he still had no idea just how to address the matter that was truly on his mind.

Thankfully, though, Sam did.

"You can save the flirting for your next conquest, you know," the younger brother commented with a sigh as he strode over and snatched the whiskey from Dean to take a large gulp himself. It was only afterwards that he bothered pressing the bag of peas against his cheek at last.

Frowning, Dean looked up at him. "Who says it's wasted on you?" he countered with an arched eyebrow, and he couldn't even deny that Sam, his Sammy, standing tall in all his glory with a bag of peas on his cheek and a bottle of whiskey on his lips was a piece of art in itself.

And he even got to enjoy the view for a bit, for Sam had actually frozen at his comment.

Only a moment later, the younger hunter lowered the bottle - and then he narrowed his eyes. "We've had this conversation, Dean," he stated firmly, and he left it at that. He hadn't even said all that much, but his demeanour left no room for an argument. As a matter of fact, he was using just the same tone and expression that had gotten his brother to shut up the last time the topic had come up.

And Dean had regretted having given in so easily for weeks already.

"Actually, we haven't," he got himself to protest and faced Sam squarely. With both of them standing, he had no chance to actually intimidate his brother physically, but his agitation got Sam to lower his head slightly nonetheless. "Seriously, Sam," he stressed as he got a step closer, "You enjoyed _us_ just as much as I did, so why the hell shouldn't we just keep going?"

Eyeing his brother as if he was crazy, Sam released an exasperated sigh. "You're seriously asking what's wrong with _brothers dating each other_?" he spoke slowly and ran a hand through his hair, "It'd be easier to list what's right about it." He clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes even further. _"Nothing is."_

Frowning deeply, Dean felt affronted. "That's a poor excuse and you know it," he observed heatedly, "If us being brothers really bothered you, you wouldn't have volunteered back then in the first place."

Sighing once again, Sam leant against the wall. "One of us had to get you past that stupid benchmark," he explained in slowly subsiding annoyance, "It was supposed to be a one-time thing anyway." He looked away.

"But why?" Dean demanded, "Why stop doing something amazing?"

And he didn't just want to know.

He _needed to know_.

He'd tactfully left Sam to his own devices thus far, but after all those weeks, he realized he simply couldn't care less about tactfulness. "You know what started all this?" Dean pressed on and took another step forward, "You told me _I was good-looking enough to turn even straight men gay_ - and guess what?" He crossed his eyes and came to a halt right in front of his brother. "Right back at you, man."

With his back against the wall and his brother looming right in front of him, Sam was obviously getting uncomfortable, but he did hold Dean's gaze evenly for a proud amount of time.

But by then, the older hunter was so agitated merely humoring his brother's decision simply wasn't an option any longer - at least not without any explanation at all. So Sam could glare and bitch at him all he wanted, Dean wouldn't let him off the hook quite as easily this time.

And, sure enough, it barely even took a minute of glaring for Sam to slump his shoulders in resignation. But even though he had deserved that victory fair and square, Dean couldn't get himself to enjoy it - for a disheartened sigh later, Sam's bitchface was replaced by a set of puppy dog eyes, and as if that wasn't already hard enough to bear, his newly acquired bruising - and those _damn peas_ - made him look even more vulnerable.

If Dean hated anything more than facing his brother's moods, it was facing his brother like that, and he really had no idea where to even being wondering just what the hell he had done wrong this time.

Thankfully, though, Sam at least had the decency to just open his mouth again, and, releasing another sigh, he spoke a simple sentence his brother hadn't seen coming.

"I baked you a pie, you know."

Blinking, Dean was so surprised he actually forgot to keep up the intimidating façade. _"What?"_

Inhaling deeply, Sam buried his hand in his hair. "Do you remember your eighteenth birthday, Dean?" he began, confusing his brother even more.

Frowning deeply, Dean tried recalling that particular occasion, but nothing exceptional came to mind.

"Dad promised to come, but of course he didn't arrive in time," Sam explained in a weary voice, "so I thought I'd surprise you with a home-made apple pie instead."

Dean's frown deepened.

_...Home-made pie?_

They'd had some ice cream on the afternoon, he remembered that much, but he certainly didn't recall any pie - and _he would have_.

"You went out with some college girls the night before, so I had plenty of time to prepare everything," Sam stated in a carefully neutral voice, "and then I waited, and waited, and waited." He sighed. "You didn't get back before 6 pm the following day. By that time, dad had finally shown up to treat us to some ice cream and a surprise hunt afterwards."

Still frowning, Dean rediscovered some vague memories from that day. "The vamps in Missouri, right?" he drawled slowly. It had been a bit of an ugly hunt, and he didn't even remember it had happened on his birthday - or, at least, started then. "That one took us a week at least, didn't it?" he drawled, still not quite understanding just what his brother was getting at.

"Yes," Sam confirmed with a nod and inhaled deeply, seemingly bracing for the worst. "You never got that pie because it was inedible by the time we got back."

Dean's eyes widened as he made the connection at last. "I didn't know that," he stated flatly, and he did not even bother hiding the sudden disappointment from his voice. By some unfortunate timing, he'd missed a gesture that should have meant a lot to both of them, and until that moment, he hadn't even realized something that had happened so long ago could make you feel so damn guilty - especially since it hadn't really been his fault, had it?

"I didn't even know you could bake," he added in an impressed voice, strangely touched by the gesture of a much younger Sammy, but he was also trying to lift the mood again. And, damn, now he wanted that pie.

But Sam's expression stayed a stoic one. "That was the first and only time I tried," he stated with a shrug and tilted his head, "But that's not my point." He inhaled deeply, with his nostrils flaring up slightly. "I'm your brother, and as such, it's really not my place to tell you how to handle your libido," he stated in a voice so dispassionate it sent a shiver down Dean's spine, "If you feel the need to change your lovers more frequently than your underwear, then, by all means, do."

He exhaled shakily, and Dean chose that moment to protest. "Now that's hardly fair," he objected heatedly, but his brother cut him off.

"Maybe," Sam stressed, and just like that, his expression turned even more sour. "Look, it's really not my business, and I really just don't care." With that, he finally loosened himself from the wall and suddenly stood tall, glaring down at his brother again. "But I do care once it _becomes_ my business, Dean," he announced and leant close enough to finish his speech by whispering into Dean's ear. "If you want me to be anything more than your brother, don't you dare making me wait for you while you sleep your way through some sorority."

Sam's attitude had already put enough of a damper on Dean's former enthusiasm, but that statement certainly served as a final blow. Then again, though, with his brother's hot breath on his skin, Dean found it exceptionally hard to concentrate on whatever he had just heard, anyway.

Damn Sam for putting him in this situation.

And damn him for expecting an answer while he was standing so temptingly close. Even though Dean opened his mouth, he didn't get himself to say anything.

So eventually, Sam backed away with an angry sigh. "Screw it, Dean," he announced heatedly as he stepped around his brother, "We're not talking about this again." He was about to storm off, but Dean unfroze just in time to grab his brother's wrist.

"Are you serious?" the older hunter asked incredulously, forcing his mind back into working mode as he whirled around to confront Sam's half-hearted glare, "You want this - " He motioned back and forth between the two of them and corrected himself. "You want _us_ just as badly as I do -" He gritted his teeth, "- and you don't even bother mentioning that you simply want me for yourself?"

Sam held Dean's glare, but his glare once again morphed into a resigned expression. "No offense, but I don't think you're even capable of monogamy," he stated flatly, "and I'd rather not get tossed away like all your other dolls, either."

Narrowing his eyes, Dean felt the need to bitch right back, but Sam's damn puppy dog eyes kept him from lashing out after all. Instead, he released an angry hiss and tried to calm down his nerves. Granted, those arguments weren't unfounded, but Dean would never dare applying his usual one night stand tactics to his own brother, anyway. "Look, Sam, you made me go back to dating women, but that doesn't mean I wanted to," he explained heatedly, "Throughout those last flings, I wanted them to be you, and I doubt that is going to change anytime soon." Taking a moment to catch his breath, he realized he was ranting, but some things had to be said, and considering Sam's expression was softening slightly, his wording couldn't be that off, could it?

"You spoilt me, man, so even if I wanted to, I couldn't cheat on you," he admitted at last, and he meant every word, "It just doesn't get any more amazing than -"

"Than _Mister 100 amazing_?" Sam cut him off quietly, and Dean's felt his heart leaping at the sight of that tiny, inviting and absolutely gorgeous smile that was forming on his brother's lips.

"If you're really serious about this," Sam went on and inhaled deeply, "If you really understand that it can never be _just sex_ between us and still want this, then I'm with you - and only then."

Their eyes locked, and even breathing was getting difficult under the sheer intensity of the question that hung in the air - and yet, Dean didn't have to think twice about it.

"Of course I'm serious about this," he announced earnestly, and he didn't even mind that, along with that statement, he implicitly admitted he might have fallen for Sam at one point anyway. He was fully aware of the risks and implications an actual relationship between them would bring along, and it would certainly take a lot of effort on his part to consciously adjust to Sam's conditions, but at the same time, and even more obviously, it would improve both their lives a lot.

So even if none of this had ever happened - if Dean had never been proud enough to overdo his search for the great 100, if they had never gone on a sexual adventure with each other of all people - he would never miss out on an opportunity to turn his brother's life just a bit brighter, and _that_ was a fact.

"Thank you," Sam eventually replied in a soft whisper barely above a mere breath, and Dean couldn't remember the last time that deep voice had sounded quite as raw and genuine.

They were finally approaching each other again - both physically and emotionally - and after weeks of cruel deprivation, Dean was elated to find their fingers entwining again - their bodies inching closer - Sam's hand wandering up his back - their lips meeting at long last.

When they had first kissed all those weeks ago, it had been intriguing, forbidden and hilariously awkward in its own right.

But now...

Now Dean knew what he had been missing.

And the taste of musk and tomatoes and whiskey was the most delicious thing his tongue had ever encountered. The rhythmic sound of their joint moans was the most beautiful music he could imagine. The heat of Sam's body against his own was the most comforting sensation ever.

"Your pie is the only one I want anyway," he found himself rasping after they broke apart at last, and the sheer desire in Sam's eyes filled him with anticipation, need and giddiness all over again.

He had known he had wanted this, and now, as he found himself getting pushed against the wall with kisses all over him, he realized he never wanted to miss it, either.

- T B C -

* * *

_Notes_: This last bit took a lot of editing and is still a bit bumpy, but I hope it was worth your while!

So, weirdly enough, we're at the end of this short story already (10k never felt so short, huh) - there's still a 0,5 k epilogue that'll be added once I get to it (so late again D:) but the main part is done. I'd really like to know what you think/thought about this, so please drop a review! And, of course, thank you for reading!


	5. 100 and pie

_A few weeks later..._

**100 and pie**

"You think you can last that long?" Sam challenged as he closed the lid of the stove and arched an eyebrow at his brother.

Dean stared longingly at the soon-to-be-pie that, by some miracle, was already looking more delicious than any other pie he had ever eaten even though it wasn't even done yet. "Dunno," he replied as he tore his gaze off the tempting dessert in the stove to look at the equally captivating main course instead, "How long does that stuff take?"

Shrugging, Sam tried blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face. "Some 45 minutes," he replied and crossed his eyes when his motion only served to get more hair into his field of vision. Thus, he used the back of his hand to brush it all in place again. That, in turn, got dough all over his forehead, and he could not help sighing in agitation.

Dean, on the other hand, was watching his brother's struggle in barely concealed fascination. "You seriously think 45 minutes will be enough," he rasped as he grabbed Sam's waist and pulled him closer, "With all these opportunities at foodplay right in font of us?" He met Sam's eyes briefly, but he could resist the temptation no longer, leant closer and simply licked that tasty dough off his brother's skin.

Sam reacted in an instant, reaching for his brother's hip and simply hoisting him onto the kitchen table that was still covered in flour, dough and apple bits.

"As long as we don't forget the pie altogether, I wouldn't mind eating it out of your navel, either," he purred as he lowered his brother onto the table's surface. Then, he reached for the bowl with the dough's remains and simply spread it all across Dean's torso. "We were really wasteful with that, weren't we?" he mused. Once he was done, he lowered his head to suck the dough off Dean again.

The combination of smell and sensation and sheer naughtiness got Dean aroused in an instant. But he needed to hold back for 45 minutes, right? He couldn't just get excited as easily as that. But then Sam brushed a good part of the dough off his abs with his finger and unceremoniously pushed it right into Dean's mouth, and he really no longer gave a shit whether he mastered that stupid challenge.

Half an hour later, they were both spent and exhausted, panting heavily after yet another memorable experience.

But they both wanted - had to - keep going, so thankfully Sam remembered to turn off the stove. Even with it's pleasant smell all over the kitchen, they totally forgot about the pie for another two hours. When they finally rediscovered it, though, it proved just as delicious as it had looked from the very beginning.

But as he found himself suckling its aroma from his brother's lips, Dean couldn't help admitting it tasted even better shared in a kiss.

After all, this was Sam, his Sammy, and just like their relationship, that particular pie wasn't just delicious.

It was frigging amazing.

- THE END -

* * *

Notes: Thank you all for reading, and lots of thanks for the great guest review! I'd be really happy to hear more feedback, so please let me know what you thought about it!


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